Inkhaven

First thing

2012-01-28T08:15:00.004Z

28. First thing

It's got me.

This story.

As soon as I wake,

it makes me start typing

while the sky turns pink.

Flock

2012-01-27T08:06:00.005Z

27. Flock

I saw them swoop down,

ink splattering a basket of black branches.

Everyone shrieks at the same time

in the twittering hedge.

Record

2012-01-26T08:36:00.004Z

26. Record

Record.

Play.

Listen back.

There's a magic in the first take.

You record take 2, just in case.

But in your heart, you know.

It's done.

Disappointed, that it's over so soon.

Morning dip

2012-01-25T08:48:00.003Z

25. Morning dip

Painful

watch

him

inch

ing

the

waves.

Takes

long

knee

deep.

I want him to

makeadashforitand

SCREAM!!!

Discord

2012-01-24T09:55:00.002Z

24. Discord

Out of key

with the piece I'm learning,

the foghorn

only plays a grey A flat.

Air dried

2012-01-23T07:20:00.002Z

23. Air dried

Bringing the laundry in from the line.

The towels smell of the wind and the waves.

Bench

2012-01-22T08:31:00.004Z

22. Bench

Where I sit, on the bright days

makes me believe it's not January,

makes the words run.

Applause

2012-01-21T08:42:00.004Z

21. Applause

Bus out of town.

That spot where the view opens up.

Forest, river, estuary, cliffs, sea.

All under a huge sky.

It makes the tourists go quiet.

Then some of them burst into applause.

When you're 6

2012-01-20T09:34:00.002Z

20. When you're 6

It just has to be done.

You stop to read out all the numbers on the currency exchange sign.

Then you read them all out again.

The first snowdrop

2012-01-19T09:24:00.003Z

19. The first snowdrop

One thin white petal emerges from shy green.

I check every day,

want proof of a new season coming closer,

but it still looks the same.

Country pub

2012-01-18T07:34:00.003Z

18. Country pub

The sign says - LEAVE BOOTS HERE.

Huge muddy footprints

lead to an old bench

and a row of clods.

Teasels

2012-01-17T08:46:00.002Z

17. Teasels

Last Summer's teasels scrape the breeze.

Their shadows are as cracked as their stems.

Rabbits

2012-01-16T07:22:00.003Z

16. Rabbits

Low sun.

My giant shadow strides downhill,

chases rabbits across the valley.

Botanic

2012-01-15T08:50:00.004Z

15. Botanic

Like a wild party.

Invitation only.

Colour rave at the florist's.

I'm outside, looking in.

Theme for the day

2012-01-14T07:59:00.003Z

14. Theme for the day

Dawn roaring into colour.

What we needed after the grey.

Everyone talking about the sky.

Watching gridlock

2012-01-13T07:19:00.005Z

13. Watching gridlock

Back, due to huge public interest.

Circle the London orbital

on our M25 sightseeing coach tour.

Wonder if it will be clockwise or anti-clockwise?

(The M25 is a massive motorway that encircles London, often grinding to a complete standstill.)

On the sixth day

2012-01-12T07:34:00.005Z

12. On the sixth day

Five days in a row,

walking the same way home,

you notice that pink-veined stone,

so unlike those that crowd the beach.

You stroll by, wondering how it came to be here.

On the sixth day you pick it up.

Sea glass

2012-01-11T07:17:00.003Z

11. Sea glass

Rare treasure in my hand.

Salt-frosted, stone-etched, wave-dulled, thrown to shore.

Ten green bottles ground back into sand.

Big wheel

2012-01-10T09:31:00.006Z

10. Big wheel

I liked it better in pieces,

in progress,

Meccano girders hauled from flat-bed trucks,

liked wondering how straights

could make a curve.

Now it watches every beach walk,

makes empty circles until the weekend.

Dig

2012-01-09T08:35:00.005Z

9. Dig

I dig up parsnips,

watch busy worms,

go home with dirty nails.

Palace roof

2012-01-08T09:48:00.001Z

8. Palace roof

Shadow of minaret

across onion dome.

Checkmate.

Pristine

2012-01-07T08:16:00.003Z

7. Pristine

Between each wave,

the silence is complete,

the foam, pristine,

lingering.

I want to tiptoe out,

believe this is new snow.

Late dawn

2012-01-06T09:08:00.003Z

6. Late dawn

Only this time of year,

you open the curtains

7.30 am

and look into the dark.

What my dream told me

2012-01-05T10:08:00.005Z

5. What my dream told me

It made sense in the night,

eyes still shut to hold the spell.

What my dream told me has flown,

except for strange words

only the darkness can understand.

How can you resist?

2012-01-04T08:06:00.002Z

4. How can you resist?

Just arrived.

2011 hatchlings.

Boa constrictor £99.99.

Sea rage

2012-01-03T08:37:00.004Z

3. Sea rage

Listening to the storm, the sea rage,

I'm remembering dark days like these,

all of us blown into school assembly,

sombre prayers for fathers at sea.

Another language

2012-01-02T09:01:00.002Z

2. Another language

In last night's puddles,

another language

has something to say.

Spruce up

2012-01-01T09:48:00.004Z

1. Spruce up

New year's day.

Time for a spruce up on the crazy golf course.

He hoovers away old leaves.

Gives those greens a good sweep.

Sometimes, you just need to make a space

2011-12-31T14:36:00.004Z

One of the best things about 2011 has been exploring different ways of presenting my work to an audience. Music, poetry and live literature have been adventuring pretty much since the year began. What more could I have wanted?

The new year will see me adding more tracks to my brand new soundcloud page. You'll be able to head there other times by clicking the 'Music tracks' tab beneath my header photo. I'll also be cheering up January by dipping my toes into another river of stones. So, lots of little pieces to come.

It's been a busy year, so the thought I have in mind for 2012 is about slowing down a bit. Sometimes you just need to make space. So, put your coat and scarf on, leave the house, cross the road, walk down lots of steps, crunch across the stones.........sometimes grey grey grey, sometimes like the shot below.

Wishing everyone a very Happy New Year.

Thanks for reading. Ax

A Christmas full of stars

2011-12-24T12:57:00.003Z

Thanks for your company in 2011.

I'd like to wish everyone who reads and comments

on Inkhaven a Christmas full of stars.

Hoping 2012 brings many creative adventures.

Annie xx

Still in progress, still fluid

2011-12-20T11:26:00.006Z

The new piece. Shortest day. It had been going so well that I decided to put it on my set list for the gig on Sunday.

Except, browsing the book store in the interval break, I realized I couldn't remember the middle section. I refused the rum punch, opting instead to keep a clear head and hoped the melody would strike me again.

A sketch, a work that was obviously still in progress, so new, still fluid. It lay on the kitchen table humming to itself while I ummed and ahhed about the best thing to do.

So, given it was very nearly the shortest day and given that no-one in the world knew how this piece went, I went for it and introduced it, saying it was brand new, that I had forgotten part of it, but was going to let it emerge as semi-improvised. And ......

It became a piece of those moments, played to that attentive audience in a little theatre, became a new version of itself, better than before, still in progress, still fluid.

And I came home to the sketch and crossed out the middle section that doesn't need to be there.

All I want to do

2011-12-17T21:58:00.003Z

That time of year - a hundred things are calling me and all I want to do is walk here.

Stormy rainbows

2011-12-14T13:57:00.006Z

Here so soon, Stormy Rainbows all the way from Australia! Thanks so much, Fiona.

My name was drawn out of the hat for Stormy rainbows - a set of 7 gorgeous handcrafted notebooks - in Fiona's blog giveaway. They line up beautifully in their own box and I know it's going to be really hard to choose which one to start writing or drawing in first. You can be sure they'll be in my pocket on a few adventures!

I was just thinking that I'd head down to the beach in a little while, my first proper beach walk right by the waves for some time. All those stones have been waiting for me to get better! Except now we seem to be having another burst of rain and a few more stormy rainbows are being cast down to earth.

I'm very much on the mend after my accident and feeling more my usual self again. Thankfully my violin survived unscathed. Obviously, it did the right thing and let me fall first so it could crash land on top of me! I'm able to play again, although my right arm is a bit creaky still. But I was able to play on some recordings for someone yesterday and getting back to doing all my usual stuff is exactly what I need. Thanks again for all the good wishes.

So good that I'm better, as I'm playing a few traditional and self-penned tunes at a gig on Sunday evening in Brighton. If my Myspace page ever lets me add new info, I'll put the details on my gig list there, but in case you are local and you'd like to come here are the details.

This Sunday 18th December, Waterloo press is holding a Christmas party at Iambic Theatre, Regent Street, Brighton. The entrance is just North of the Komedia rear entrance. Come and hear 4 poets reading their work and me playing violin. Book stall and rum punch!! All starting at 7pm and finishing around 10pm. £5/4 It's small venue, so be early if you want to ensure your seat!

So, on that note of optimism, I'm going to check the skies to see if a storm is about to lash in before stepping outside into the gale.

Ps. Good job I checked, I just got blown back in through the front door with a face full of hail!!

Ouch!

2011-12-04T10:39:00.004Z

You get the picture?

I took this shot in Wales this Summer thinking it was funny. I had no idea that a rusty old sign on a little mountain railway track would sum up a week in December.

A bicycle going at speed crossed paths with me a few days ago and I came off the worst. No broken bones, thankfully. But I have bruises that look like new islands on an atlas page and a headache that makes me weep in my worst moments. I have yet to find out if my violin has come through unscathed. I can't play it to fully find out.

So, I have been "elsewhere" in a fog of shock and fury, lulled by the radio. Sleep has been my friend and I've spent most of my wakeful hours watching the comings and goings of the birds in the garden.

But things are looking up. Yesterday, I had a slow limping walk in the sun and managed to scrawl a few angry words in my notebook about tarmac and Lycra and go faster lines. Today, I have kinder thoughts in my head and can type a bit. A new poem is in the making, I think.

It's great to hear I've won a giveaway from Fiona's blog. It's a set of little notebooks that will be in my pocket on my walks and meanderings. Thanks again, Fiona.

And thanks to everyone who has sent me good wishes. I'll be out and about again soon.

Back to the wild river

2011-11-24T18:58:00.005Z

Just before dusk. Whatever time of year, they congregate in small groups to head into town and join the massive gathering at the piers.

As if someone clicked fingers, they surge into the aerial choreography they are famous for. And just as abruptly settle down to rest. A wonderful display for us. For them, it's just a getting ready for bed routine, same as any other day.

While it feels great to have passed the 50,000 word target in this year's Nanowrimo, it feels even better to just get back to what I always do - write words on pages with a pen. Back to the wild river, then. Phew! It feels so good.

Thanks to everyone who has supported my Nano progress this month. Ax

Within reach

2011-11-22T12:15:00.004Z

Feels like I'm starting to see the daylight again. 46, 743 words have taken their toll. But feels like I'm within reach of the target of 50,000. Once I'm past that, I'm going to have another novel free day. And beyond that? Slow down!!

I can feel myself running out of steam and I've developed a cough that frightens the birds away. Guess it's not helped by being indoors typing typing typing! The only thing for it, if I can stay awake, is to stroll the beach and touch the kind of mindless drift that waits for me there.

Great timing that the Pigbaby poetry festival starts in town tonight. Sure to spark off a few interesting ideas. If I retain my voice I'll be putting my name on the open mike list to read something recently penned. So, if you're in Brighton, why not come and hear a whole range of poets and poetry?

Wordcount - 46743

Last line - She comes through the crowd, looking for someone, seeking them out like a beast snuffles for truffles or acorns in an oak wood bedded with dry golden leaves.

Red tab

2011-11-17T08:35:00.006Z

It's a complicated. You have all these jigsaw pieces littering your floor and no picture to help you. Some pieces fit snugly together, create a sense of a bigger scene. It threads out and away into another room so it's impossible to get an overview. A few other pieces are shaped differently, more angular, cut from different board. You like them, but they might even be from another jigsaw.

In progress, my sketchy new novel. I was trying to do this year's Nanowrimo differently. Trying to avoid the chaos that has run through my other tries and attempting to learn new things about writing a large work as I go. However, it seems like the words are on the run and loving every minute. And I'm weary, sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by all those jigsaw pieces, wondering how to ever make them all fit.

So it was interesting yesterday, when the tiredness got to me, that a new character breezed in like a red tab on empty pages and before I knew it, I had written another 4 pages of text. I promptly went for a walk by the sea and fell asleep in a rare glimpse of the sun.

36051 words so far.

Last line - Something church-like about the resonance, as if the walls are still humming every sound they ever heard.

Boneshakers

2011-11-08T22:03:00.003Z

Some people preferred to ignore the whole mutual admiration proceedings and got back to their novel.

Who could blame them? 60 miles from London to Brighton in an old boneshaker probably made it impossible to read on the way.

Every November, the members of the Royal Automobile Club hold their annual run down to Brighton. And now that I live just 87 steps away from the finish line I have no excuses not to go. Spectators line the route for most of the way on the back roads as the cars reach top speeds of about of 25mph and attempt to whizz past like Toad of Toad Hall. Some are still powered by steam, many required a bit of a rebuild on the way, hopefully near a nice country pub that brought them a cheese sandwich and a pint of shandy. All you old car buffs need to take a look here.

If you'd like to join them, please note that your car has to have been manufactured before 1905 to qualify! Most are polished and decked out to perfection.

I love the battered ones as well as the shiny ones. A few are for sale. Nice purchase if you have a heavy piggy bank and a barn to keep your precious car in.

You could always ride down on your Penny Farthing......

Or drive down in your road engine.....

And after a race to the sea, many of them can't make it home again, so have to be hauled onto trucks and trailers just like this one!

Like the girl in the first photo, I have a novel to get back to. Great to have a few distractions on Sunday and Monday before I resumed the wordrush.

Wordcount is 21657.

Last line - Never practice music in a room with a view.

Strange tilt

2011-11-04T23:02:00.000Z

The world has taken on a strange tilt. Reason being, I'm bleary-eyed after writing so many words these last few days. Today, a wave of tiredness hit me, left me brain dead and asking - Sketching a novel in 30 days? Am I insane? All because of Nanowrimo. Yes. And I chose to do it for a reason that seems to escape me at the moment.

11008 words so far. Another 800 or so in my notebook waiting to be typed into the computer and added to that total. A job for tomorrow, I think.

Happy that I reached my 10,000 by Saturday aim.
Daunted by how much more I need to write.
Aching across my shoulders. Typing and playing the violin are a bad combination, obviously. They do sound quite good together, though. (Groan. See what's happened to me?)
Hopeful that it will feel better again in a couple of days.
Looking forward to well-earned day off writing on Monday.

Today's last line - In that simple village hall, how many shoes have been worn out? How many fiddle strings?

Countdown

2011-10-31T14:13:00.001Z

The countdown has begun for Nanowrimo. About 10 hours to go before it's November, which means those 30 days and nights of literary abandon loom close.

The idea for this novel is leaning on me and waiting for the fun to start. I'm taking it as a good sign, although a part of me is having 11th hour nerves thinking that cleaning the kitchen floor might be a good idea instead. The only way to get rid of such ideas is to get busy with what's really important.

So, I'm going to try for a more planned approach this year. Me, Annie Inkhaven, a plotter? Well, you might be surprised!! It's a perfect place to try out new ways of working.

Here's the link to my info page where you can track how the word count is coming on as of midnight and read a bit of blurb about the novel itself. I'll be posting little extracts here at Inkhaven throughout the month, so do let me know what you think.

Anyone else taking part this year?

Wish me luck. Rock 'n roll.

Half-way station

2011-10-24T17:42:00.000+01:00

Sometimes, you only get halfway somewhere. And then there's a problem with going forwards or back. Half-way station is now closed for the Winter and it looks like the next train might arrive in about 6 months time.

Sorry that so many of you are having trouble leaving comments. Fingers crossed it gets fixed soon and that you might come back and try again. Try making sure you're logged in before leaving a comment and wait for the word verification tab to trundle up.

Here's a beach find from yesterday that seems to express the right kind of grimace about the proceedings.

New look

2011-10-21T09:01:00.001+01:00

Couldn't resist applying the new dynamic views to Inkhaven after seeing it in action on other blogs.

What do you think?

Truth is, it didn't take me long to decide to go for it. I'd say it was about 20 seconds! I'd been wondering about a new vibe for a while, but couldn't face html when the beach beckoned.

Anyway, I'm hoping this new look will encourage more browsing, both from me at other blogs and all the readers that visit mine. I'm sick of falling into that one-click one-glance in-a-rush have-no-time behaviour.

Click on the black tab at the top left side of this page where it says Magazine and you'll get a drop down menu. And if you click on Flipcard or Mosaic.......SEE!! Bring on the fun!!

Shirtsleeves

2011-10-17T08:02:00.004+01:00

Shirtsleeves in October. Short days of low sun. Had to find my sunglasses again. And sandals. Have had a few writing sessions out on the beach this week, barefoot, almost touching the surf.

A red roof stands out like a warning sign on brushed brown fields. Young calves with square faces stare out of the flowering broom. Good place to scratch your back. Black-faced sheep, most of them pregnant. Rooks falling through the breeze. Tumble out to land, wings askew.

But the hills have taken on their Autumn colours. And you know from the way the cool air cuts you in the early morning or coming home late at night, that another season is waiting to push in from white lands.

One old hawthorn shows which way that chill will push you, even though it's not the way home. But not yet. Still, there's another blue evening warm enough to sit and gaze at a surging tide that rinses every chalk fist on the shore.

Star struck

2011-10-12T09:38:00.003+01:00

She took it as a sign when that starfish landed on her head. Young seagulls mobbed in, stalling their flight, falling to ground, unsteered. But the day continued grey, uneventful, just a lingering tang of fish, a sense of sand crystals between her teeth, that calling behind her ear.

Play - National poetry day 2011

2011-10-06T12:31:00.006+01:00

PLAY

Peeping through the bushes,

PLAY

shouts out

in big blue letters........

***

It's National poetry day today and this year's theme is games. There might be an event near you. Check out the link to see.

And if not, then why not just enjoy a poem or two - or even let rip and read them out loud?

Sorry to have removed this poem. I have other plans for it now. But thanks for reading and for interesting and useful comments. Ax

Wandering and wondering

2011-10-02T08:21:00.005+01:00

Over at the Altered Page today, Seth has a series of links to bloggers who talk about the techniques or tools that they use in their work and just couldn't live without.

There's a link to one of my previous posts there. It's great to find out which post Seth chose. I had no idea what he'd go for. So if you fancy a stroll through one of my mornings, head over there to see.

Thanks to Seth for posting a link.

Library wall

2011-09-30T07:54:00.006+01:00

You never know what you might find if you take a look at Paraxis 02 which is now online.

One of my pieces appears on the Library Wall. It's called Talking books and you might enjoy seeking it out on the collage page. I wrote a number of pieces inspired by libraries a while back. I had such fun writing them that it's great to see that fun continuing in this web page.

Ok - if you're in a hurry, it's on a beige background, long and skinny in the lower right hand quarter of the collage. First line - The library is rarely silent. No.6 on the list. But hopefully you'll have time to read more of the pieces there.

Thanks to Paraxis for publishing my piece.

Get busy

2011-09-24T12:29:00.008+01:00

Anyone who regularly sends work out, be it writing, visual art, music, film will be familiar with the words in this text. It's an extract from my outcomes list kept over the last few years. Read it on a bad day and it does your head in.

I created it earlier this year in response to Rosie's request for submissions for her Failure project. If you take a look at her blog you can read more about the project. And if you click on the failure label at the bottom of her post you'll find out how the project went, because it certainly wasn't a failure!!

The world of publishing takes time to respond, if ever, to the mountains of work it receives. So the only way I can move my work forward is to keep taking it elsewhere, to explore live work and blogs, ebooks and other alternatives. I guess this has given my work a new lease of life and enabled me to take risks in my writing that I wouldn't ordinarily have done.

The work has it's own life, doesn't much care about what anyone else thinks, just wants you to get on and get busy.

So it was great to hear that one of my poems made the top 30 longlist for the Lightship poetry prize. And then, a while later, even better to hear that it had been shortlisted to the top 10!! So, I'm thrilled that my piece will be published in the anthology due out next month.

I thought this week might be quieter, that I would be happy to take it easy, waft about a bit, smile a lot. Talk about a wordrush!! My pen has hardly stopped writing. It's been just the sort of boost I've needed and my words have rediscovered a sense of playfulness that they lost a long time ago.

So, guess what I've done this week? I've sent some more work out and have been smiling a lot!

Grounded

2011-09-22T10:38:00.008+01:00

Click any photo to view as an image stream. What a great new feature, but I hope you'll read the rest of my post as well!

Grounded. Going nowhere fast. Scraped across the stones and dragged into the shallows. It came ashore on ferocious tide when the mist was pulled down like grubby curtains. And it looked like it was a light in the murk of that monochrome as I walked towards it, only me and it on the gloomy beach.

But now, it seems to have dug in and made itself at home on a place it always looked at from a distance. And I love that it's like a sculpture and how everyone looks close and feels the surface and scoops their hands in the great big dent where it hit something huge.

It was warm enough to work on the beach for a couple of hours yesterday and I liked the company of this huge globe, imagined crossing that equator, wondered about the new islands mapped there.

Found myself imagining the workshop that made it, welded the plates together. Wanted to be the one to spray it like a sun. Or the one to hoist it out on the sea.

Wires and Welsh weather

2011-09-15T07:49:00.007+01:00

Go on! Before you scroll down. Guess what happened next.

(Back in July when I was in Wales.)

Wires and Welsh weather high up on the pass near Snowdon. The ice cream van behind us in this car park was still doing a brisk trade selling cones to bikers.

I had the window open, listening to the rain fall into all that space. And just as I was thinking that those raindrops looked like notes on a music stave......I wasn't fast enough with the camera to snap what happened next.

At one point, the whole family was lined up on those wires, with fluffy babes in dull coats. And then, before they all swooped off over the wall into their chattering hawthorn home, this one came to check if we had any biscuits....

We didn't, but he hung around just in case.

On my doorstep - Madeira lift

2011-09-09T09:20:00.011+01:00

Just a few minutes from my front door, Madeira lift connects the main seafront road here with the sun terrace and the lower promenade. Open in Summertime, it saves you having to huff and puff up 98 steps to get back home from the beach. Better enjoy it while we can.

The street level is one of my favourite places to sit and write or read if I can't face the stones. Little details in the faded Victorian architecture always draw my camera.

I've sat and looked at these structures so many times, even before I lived right here, but I often spot something new.

September's 'back to work' means I hop on the bus a lot, so these promenade structures have been catching my eye again as I wait. And the gloom has brought some atmospheric skies while I've been taking shelter.

The best thing about a downpour? Sitting in here waiting for the sky to rush past.

That September feeling

2011-09-06T10:02:00.003+01:00

Just a few days ago, before the dark swept in, before the gales found

the shore, before I ironed smart shirts and brushed sand from my shoes, I sat at the plot in the shade of the apple tree watching the bees visit every mint stem. The following morning, the tide fell low and I walked in the shallows for further than I've walked here without stepping on stones.

Now that feels like it was in another season!! I'm missing my sandals already, wondering if I should just put them away. Three days of weather and I'm like a caged creature pacing the floor.

Bonus is - back to work and resuming all the things that get left to one side in the Summer, my creative work is raising hands to wave at me. Better without the yawning spaces. Too much freedom makes my work hunch away from the attention. It prefers to be part of the everyday, the usual, the mundane.

So maybe it's okay after all to be listening to the rain beat the house. (I'm hoping it might do a bit of window washing for me as well while it's at it!) That September feeling has got me.

Salt lines

2011-08-30T21:45:00.003+01:00

marram

red squirrel

pine

dunes on the move

boardwalk

tracks

windfarm

beacon

footprints

knee high sand storm

swallows

razor

piddock

cockle

mussel

tower

sunrise

low tide far out

mirage

gullies

ripples

salt lines

signs

warnings

flags

lifebelts

rescue truck

binoculars

watching the tide

100 figures

only 2 of them walking

***

Walking out to the place the rescue truck waits. A little rise on dry sand that the tide has abandoned these last months. Past the binoculars, the fat tyres, the hoard of coiled rope. Past the red flags, the rescue flares, the beacon.

A deer made the news. Took fright at the wide expanses of beach. Ran far out to sea, sprinting through shallows.

They said rescue services need to be cut back here. That would leave this vast beach unwatched. But a deer has delayed the decision.

Looking

2011-08-26T18:10:00.007+01:00

A giant West African bronze head bursts through the walls of the Echo Arena. They also have an image of the Titanic doing the same, somewhere, but there was so much to see that I missed it!

Liverpool seems to be bursting with things to see at the moment. My home city seems to be a different city each time I go back to visit. So, it was nice to get a different perspective on things by going to ride the new wheel.

There's also a new museum along the waterfront, open, but still in progress, so definitely one to catch up with next time.

And from the top of that wheel in the city, you can just glimpse this favourite beach of mine. Always better to have walked there. A place I never tire of.

***

Thanks to Seth for including a little piece of mine in Style File 10 over at The altered page.

Feast for the senses

2011-08-17T19:39:00.005+01:00

Baby corn has never looked this good!! I thought we'd bought the same variety as usual this year, but these plumes are so gorgeous it's hard to cast them into the compost bin. It's hard not to eat the corn before it reaches the steamer or the wok as well!

And the sweet peas are finally flourishing. Their scent is almost hypnotic.

And although they always turn to face the neighbour's plot, any flower that grows taller than a person is always going to impress. They never fail to make me smile.

Jigsaw

2011-08-14T21:29:00.004+01:00

Cast-off bark cracks brittle beneath our steps. Every piece gazes up with a lone eye. A broken jigsaw that will never fit again.

Like a sixties fabric for your Summer dress, or the tie that's the talk of the party, what's left behind is all curves you could trace with a continuous line. The trunk holds the patterns in mustard yellow, olive green, a pink hint in the brown grey and the profile of Marie Antoinette.

Imagine that you see it. Third London plane, on that little rise where you like to sit on the bench.

Love from Martha

2011-08-06T12:44:00.008+01:00

I like her feet. I sleep through the afternoon with my nose in her sandals.

She takes me to the woods in the morning and we run through the trees. I run around in circles. I think she hides from me in the shade. It's a scary game, but I find her in the end.

I try hard not to woof at the big dogs who go by, but if they woof, I make sure to woof back a lot. It's hard not to jump up at the kids as they play. I'm bigger than lots of them and I like it when they are all shouting. It makes me go all bouncy and I get very silly.

Apples fall from the neighbour's tree. Each one makes me jump. I bite them all to serve them right.

We go to the park and I say hello to every dog. I spend a lot of time sniffing everything and then sniffing it again. Annie says - "We're not here to sniff everything," but I think she's wrong.

[Martha is a Goldendoodle, retriever and poodle cross, 5 months old and growing by the day. Not mine, sadly, but that means I can have weeks like this with her. A]

Can't help watching

2011-07-31T13:40:00.006+01:00

31. Can't help watching

White water fades to black.

Black water runs into white.

31 stones. One for each day of July, skimming through my posts this month. It's been so good to take a close focus again.

July also involved a real life rushing, raging river for me. Afon Glaslyn, pictured here in the first shot looking downriver towards the gorge and in the second shot looking upriver from the garden. Staying right beside this river in Wales, it's no surprise that there are many more stones in my notebook that haven't made it to the polishing stage yet.

As usual, after I return home, I'm still missing her voice running through the house. I'm lucky to hear the sea here at home sometimes, especially when the traffic is quiet or when the tide pounds in, but a river has a different kind of constancy in her sounds, and was running just a few yards away from the house.

Thanks to everyone who followed the river this month and especially those who added comments.

Forest

2011-07-30T07:52:00.002+01:00

30. Forest

Builders unload planks on the corner.

Slow down as you walk past.

Smell the forest.

Bus stop

2011-07-29T18:42:00.002+01:00

29. Bus stop

Bus stop.

Sea view.

I don't mind waiting.

When I was doing the weeding

2011-07-28T07:25:00.003+01:00

27. New piece

It flits through my dreams,

hangs out in grey corners of sleep,

waits for me,

becomes a soundtrack to my days,

the new piece I'm working on.

28. Weeding

Doing the weeding.

Showing no mercy.

(Sorry, weed lovers of the world!)

Gongs

2011-07-26T21:28:00.001+01:00

26. Gongs

Scaffolders dismantle their rigs.

Strike gongs.

New crop

2011-07-25T21:34:00.003+01:00

25. New crop

Dig them up from the warm soil.

Scrub, cook, eat.

Sunday morning

2011-07-24T21:29:00.003+01:00

24. Sunday morning

Before I open my eyes - the metallic breath of a new tide, the grate of early traffic, my neighbour's urgent footsteps, glissandi seagull cries, the space around the ticking clock.

Side by side (stones 17-23)

2011-07-23T21:11:00.005+01:00

17. Side by side

Sometimes,

all you need to do

is sit side by side.

I was in Wales last week, staying beside a river that has become a friend. Afon Glaslyn runs past the garden of a little cottage I stay at. Her voice is a constant there, especially at times when the water is wild. And it was very wild for the first few days!

Sitting beside a river. The best times were the simple ones.

Thanks to everyone who sent comments while I was away. I write every day, holiday or not, so here are some stones found in Wales. Enjoy!

18. Angle

No let up in the rain.

Only the angle changes.

19. In another country

At the petrol station

across the border,

mossy rocks like in a magical cave,

fairytale ferns,

waterfall.

20. Slate

Cracked slate.

Blinkered horse.

Picasso portrait.

Shrugging bird.

Map of the valley.

21. Eye level

Sun-baked rocks draw you down,

make you lie eye level

with waterfall, heather,

gorse and bilberries.

22. Runaways

Lambs run away from the steam train,

race with swallows.

23. Red dragons

Red dragons guard the iron frames

of the station benches.

River song

2011-07-16T07:40:00.001+01:00

16. River song

Sometimes, the river has less to say.

But I'm still listening.

Time off

2011-07-15T21:55:00.003+01:00

15. Time off

Swinging my legs from an old bench.

Strolling home in old sandals.

Everything taking as long as it takes.

New islands

2011-07-14T22:00:00.002+01:00

14. New islands

Way out at sea.

New islands on the move.

Cloud shadows.

Dot to dot

2011-07-13T20:14:00.002+01:00

13. Dot to dot

Dot to dot.

Flower to flower.

Trying to guess where the next kiss will press.

Hoverfly.

Marigolds.

Sea edge

2011-07-12T14:32:00.004+01:00

12. Sea edge

Waves flip to reveal

a translucent underbelly.

An endless snake,

curving closer,

sssssssssssss-ing West.

4.10 am

2011-07-11T21:04:00.003+01:00

11. 4.10 am

Not ideal

4.10 am

I close my eyes again,

pick up the pen

and write in the dark.

My muse likes to come home late after a night on the town or from moonlit hilltop walks. She crashes about like that flatmate I had at college who never slept in the hours of darkness.

Then she starts doodling with that new piece we've been working on. Comes up with a river of ideas, out loud.

My limbs are holding onto sleep. My brain is trying to convince me that I'll remember these images in the morning. I know the magic will start to fade as soon as I open my eyes.

So, I do the right thing. I reach for the pen, the notebook, hunch around the page, write until there's nothing more to say.

In the morning, my words look like a huge and enthusiastic monster was learning to write on pages that cramped his style. I can't read all the words, but I get the gist.

4.10 am is my 11th stone in the River of stones this month. Click here to find out more about the project and to read some more small stones.

Lavender blur

2011-07-10T20:58:00.005+01:00

10. Lavender blur

The breeze surges with lavender blur,

butterfly flitting and teasel sway,

unable to stop once it all started.

While the vegetables on the allotment are catching up on sun, the herbs and flowers seem to be busy filling up all the gaps. Everything seemed to be in flow today on a breeze that came in like surging waves. I think it made the insects delirious.

Sweet peas, lavender, blueberries, raspberries, shallots, red onions, mange tout peas, sugar snap peas, radishes, courgettes. Today's harvest. Happy.

Stirred

2011-07-09T13:59:00.003+01:00

9. Stirred

A paper coffee cup

dances in circles

in the alleyway.

Spontaneous

2011-07-08T22:51:00.004+01:00

8. Spontaneous

Even better as a surprise,

staying for dinner.

Tail lights

2011-07-07T22:02:00.003+01:00

7. Tail lights

Red tail lights speed up the hill,

take off into the night.

Consonants

2011-07-06T15:40:00.003+01:00

6. Consonants

A Spanish girl talks at her silent friend,

hardly pausing for breath.

I hear flamenco in her consonants.

Hypnotic

2011-07-05T13:54:00.003+01:00

5. Hypnotic

Watching the volleyball match.

Not caring who wins.

This little piece is part of a River of stones. You can read more about the project by clicking here.

Low tide, Monday

2011-07-04T20:12:00.006+01:00

4. Low tide, Monday

Monday morning rush hour.

A man in a suit strides across the beach,

takes off his smart shoes,

rolls up his trousers

and paddles towards town.

Copy cat

2011-07-03T21:23:00.004+01:00

3. Copy cat

Pushing the pram along the promenade,

he's shouting into his phone.

In every pause,

his grinning baby shouts back.

Lane

2011-07-02T20:40:00.005+01:00

2. Lane

Driving out of town,

the pavement runs with us,

fluid as a meandering stream.

Always a different river

2011-07-01T22:18:00.004+01:00

Soon, I'll be returning to a river. Sometimes I think I can hear it even though I'm many miles away. In another country.

But before I put my feet into that lovely Welsh river, I'll be taking part in this month's River of Stones. This is where lots of bloggers aim to pay attention to one small thing each day and to write it down.

So, here's the first of mine this month.

1. Twilight

Dark shapes in the twilight.

Three round stones sitting like cats.

Three round cats sitting like stones.

If you'd like to read more about the project, read some more stones, or find out about how you can join in, even if you don't consider yourself to be a writer, click here to go the river.

The simple pleasure of filling a basket.

2011-06-29T07:35:00.004+01:00

It looked like a jungle when we got there. So green after the rain.

The grass was swaying like long hair in the breeze. Every straight line of path, edging and fruit cage was bursting with stems on a mission to join hands with their neighbour, not caring if they were weed or hedge or vegetable.

Push lawn mower, clippers, secateurs. Trowel, hoe, fork. Cup of tea in the shade. Flowers, fruit, vegetables. The simple pleasure of filling a basket.

White on white

2011-06-22T21:11:00.003+01:00

White on white of surf. A roar that's reluctant to leave the shore. The sound is so loud that you want to scream. You can't help yourself.

You find yourself running. Your feet learn to love the shift of wet stones. They find a way to keep you upright and moving forward into a spray that obliterates the town.

Against a white too blinding to gaze at, you see yourself as an inky black drawing, still wet, still fluid, despite the efforts of the wind to grab you and plane your sheen into dull.

When you turn for home, you see the washed out erasure of all that you just ran through. The beach turned white, washed out with light spill. It's the colour of sunbleached driftwood that reminds you of rock. It's the colour of rock that comes to look like driftwood.

The spray rubs it all back. And you are included.

From a doorstep

2011-06-17T11:38:00.006+01:00

Here's a view from my doorstep. Wedding cake houses. Gulls drifting by.

I was just on the beach, strangely comforted by rain closing in, by the sky coming closer to earth. It began just as soon as I stepped onto stones, spotted only my hands and sleeves. Seemed to blow past the rest of me.

No dog walkers, no swimmers, no fishermen, no yachts, no gulls. Only a strange wrecked buoy with obscene graffiti in neat script. And distant in the gloom, lifeguards setting up their pitch. And I'm wondering if they have to sit out the weather when everyone else heads home fast. If they will dig in and continue gazing for a hint of the slightest something in the waves, fighting boredom and sleep and a chill that challenges their red and yellow storm suits.

I couldn't be in a better place for skywatching. The best skies for poetry seem to be more like this. Enough sky drama to keep you sitting out into dusk, and sometimes rare low tide sand to stroll before it's gone under again too soon.

And then, the hard slog home. Screes of stones and 89 stone steps.

Gooseberries

2011-06-13T22:44:00.003+01:00

Should have waited, got them to smile. Should have clicked when they were just picked, like wine beads in the sun, my hands still feeling the scratches from ruthless thorns. I should have held on, taken shots of meringue dessert, still warm on the plate. I should have slowed down, clicked those last few crumbs, that curving line of syrupy juice, the softened pips that were licked when no-one was looking.

And there they were gone. Delicious! This year's gooseberry crop was a small one, but perfectly formed into dessert that disappeared before I thought about anything else. How it should be, of course, but this meant that I didn't take a shot for you to see. (The eagle eyes among you will recognize this photo from last year.)

Winter garlic

2011-06-09T07:51:00.003+01:00

Looks great, doesn't it!

This is some of the garlic that braved the big freeze and guzzled rain through the dark days of Winter. Don't ask me how it survived that and the drought we've had this last couple of months. It was obviously on a mission to reach our plates!

I just love the pristine of it after dusting off the soil and trimming back the shoots. But here's the first shot, taken just after pulling it from the dust.

The lion and the unicorn

2011-06-05T13:44:00.008+01:00

pegged on a line

cast on the breeze

whispered to the river

swept downstream

poems flutter-flag

call you over

to read

to listen

tide drag

strums the wires

pages struggle with reins

as the wind gathers

a lion sits patient with your words

a unicorn takes your dreams into flight

your poem is a freedom

your poem is a bird

They bring the bees

2011-05-31T07:52:00.007+01:00

House full of flowers.

The white is full-on elderflower. Knock it back beside the back door wide open to the breeze, imagining that today will go on forever.

The red is more subtle, though still sweet. Honey, almonds, soft fruits. Sip it slowly, feet up, all night to spend.

These glorious wild sweet peas have no fragrance, or maybe they withhold it when the roses push through the house like noisy guests, wait instead for their own moment to shine?

At the allotment, despite the dust, the burn back, crowds of white marguerites fill every sway. They came to grow there. Easy gardening. They bring the bees.

Beach watch

2011-05-24T12:31:00.008+01:00

The cormorant leaves no trace on the surface after he dives, becomes a black sway chasing silver. Hands are busy on a scrape of sand at the sea's edge. A sandcastle is told every story. A gull sits close by, tucked in, lost in speckles of stones.

Out on the jetty, a boy throws stones into that place before the surging, where the water gulps them down. There's a woman lying on a futon. Prepared for Brighton. Bikini and boots. Heading into the sunblast, a stickman paddles on a surfboard.

Across the horizon, all day to spend, a yacht edges so slowly away that it looks like it will never get there. A fisherman leans back into his old car seat. Toes the shallows. One long slim cloud drifts, East to West. Neat as a child's drawing.

A running dog snaps at beach wide wave crests. Turns to do it all again. And again. A grandma sifts stones in a sieve. Head bowed. Treasure hunting. Lunchtime over, a crow picks through every stone.

Just up the beach, someone on last night's tide ridge, watches all these solitudes.

****

25th May 2011

If you'd like to read some more of my words, why not head over to The Red Ceilings where Mark has posted three of my poems - Nasturtiums, bird in the reed and No comfor t. Thanks Mark.

Drawn to the beat

2011-05-18T12:44:00.007+01:00

Click!

So, you cover the whole floor in paper, get out some crayons and turn the music up loud!!

I didn't know that the secret headbanger in me would be in her element when I went to a workshop called Drawn to the beat last Saturday night. It has to be one of the most memorable night's ever, and certainly top of my drawing experiences.

It was given by Naomi Kendrick who is a visual artist from Manchester. There's lots of info about her work on her blog including some video of such an event. The photos are gorgeous as well. This all happened at Fabrica, where I've also done other unusual workshops that I've previously posted about.

I had thought that I might snap a few shots before, during and after. However.......

........I got a bit carried away and 2 hours had passed by in a crayon frenzy with sweat running down the side of my face as I worked before I knew it. It reminded me a bit of ecstatic dance without much footwork. Totally engrossing. In another world. Just wonderful. (That glass of beer afterwards was pretty wonderful as well!!)

THANK YOU NAOMI and THANK YOU FABRICA!!

All these shots are taken across the finished floor. As you can see, there wasn't much white paper left by the time the music stopped!!

This last one shows my work in the foregound with the dark swooping shape and the geometric circle. Guess it measured about 4 foot across. My knee discovered that rather lovely grid cover in the floor which became more and more golden as I worked.

Printed orange

2011-05-13T21:06:00.005+01:00

Click while it's still here!

Mysterious that this post from yesterday was deleted during Blogger's big blip. Sadly, the comments disappeared as well, although I do still have them as emails, so if I can't somehow retrieve them, I'll add them into the comment box anyway.

I'm trying again. I might have lost the specifics, but I do still remember the thread!

Bought in a mesh bag from the supermarket with 5 other blood oranges, the beautiful dark speckled skins were no match for this one. Shaded by leaves in the sun blast there's a printed effect on the skin.

Now that I've eaten the others, it's sitting in the fruit bowl with some pale looking satsumas and an avocado which has a rough ridge that reminds me of a dragon's spine in picture books, or the final rocks leading up to a mountain summit.

I'm lucky to have a plot on the edge of town to grow food. All shapes and sizes come home tasting great. Sad that non conformist fruit usually gets binned.

However, there was once a lemon I chose for similar reasons. You can read about it here.

Before the yellow got blown away

2011-05-08T12:51:00.005+01:00

Click!

Too long a spell without rain.

April felt like July, with endless blue skies. The Spring flowers seem to have bowed their heads before I've sat beside them long enough to breathe in their sappy fragrance.

But the last couple of days, the skies have been lower and greyer and we finally got what we've been waiting for, with a bit of dramatic thunder rolling in as well. I love rain, but don't much like getting rained on unless it's a Summer storm and I'm heading back home rather than to work! So, despite my need to always be out and about, there's been more time spent indoors.

I've been working at the kitchen table - my favourite place to work if the weather keeps me from beach or hills, with the back door open just a crack when the rain poured down. It's extra good when there's something cooking in the oven as well.

The comment stream that came in response to my last blog post was an amazing first for Inkhaven. Thank you to everyone who took the time to respond. As I said in some of my replies there, Inkhaven was never intended as a place for me to talk to myself. It truly wouldn't be the same without you.

One of the themes that came from those comments referred to the photos I post. No surprise really, as I've always had interesting and enthusiastic feedback about them. So, as I've been thinking about some of those comments, I've been taking more photos inside, which is a bit of a new venture for me.

Obviously, as these shots show, I've been spending a lot of time looking out of windows waiting for the rain to stop so I can go outside again! This next shot is the kind of thing that I want to try again, although that will no doubt be "as and when" rather than any kind of set up. It's taken looking at reflections in a tapestry frame, so the garden is actually way across the room and outside. The houseplants which have come out as dark silhouettes are sitting on a table in front of the window looking out. I like how the window frames are warping in the odd perspective and how the loss of definition seems to hint at memory or dream.

Click!

I guess the multi layering might be a bit like how our minds hold and recall images.

Yes, no and maybe

2011-05-02T19:49:00.005+01:00

Click!

The tides come and go. I try to take notice, pay attention to when my feet might find some sand to stroll. Hope that's it won't be at 3 am.

Same with this blog.

Inkhaven first took form as a way for me to get back into daily writing. Once my writing practice found a good rhythm, there was a shift into posting less often. Time went on and it all seemed to take on a little life of it's own and readership grew.

It's been a busy time, lately. I'm so happy that lots of creative work is on the go - writing, music and drawing projects are in flow. I've been spending less time online and consequently, spending less time here at Inkhaven and less time looking at other blogs. But lately, the lovely flow that was once here, has been missing. The sense of looking forward to posting seems to have faded.

April just gone, brought only 5 posts here. There were a couple of times when I browsed my photos, looking for interesting shots. But then I realized there was nothing I wanted to say, at least not online.

Part of what's going on is that there seems to be more and more work that I don't want to share with the whole world. "In progress" has taken on a new value for me and I like the effect it's having on my work.

Here on the stony coast, beach walking mostly depends on your footwear. Yes - you're in that old pair of sandals that curve to the exact shape of your feet and there's a stretch of low tide sand just easing further and further into the sun for a precious time. No - you're coming back from work in smart clothes and your best shiny shoes and the stones are piled high like unstable cliffs on their way East. On the maybe days, it's a case of seeing how windy or cold it is and taking it from there.

That's the kind of yes, no and maybe that I'd like to find again here - an easy way of being with it all and with no sense of having to produce something for these pages or feeling guilty if I haven't posted this week.

Vast skies and seascapes flow past my front door every moment.

***

Apparently, most blog readers read less when there are lots of words onscreen. So, if you are still with me at this point and have any thoughts on this post that are not to do with me funding you through University or wanting me to check out your hot shots elsewhere, please do leave a comment. Inkhaven is suffering from a loss of genuine readers and creative buddies and it would be lovely to hear from people who have thoughts in their head.

Hiding in the mundane

2011-04-27T15:17:00.006+01:00

Having visitors to stay. Attempting to have some time off. Interesting.

Out of my normal routines, I knew I wanted to keep some writing momentum going, so I filled notebook pages as usual, though squeezed it in between other stuff and the not-much-happening brain dead times of holidays.

While the pen was busy on the page, it seemed like all I wrote about was late trains, holiday traffic, how hot it was and how the beach was always packed with people.

April is NaPoWriMo and because I'd planned a holiday break, I didn't sign up. However, I've been retrieving poems from my notebook all month, fishing them out. I've kept them together, one from each day. Kept an eye on them. And I assumed there would be a gap from my busy time unless I could patch a poem from scraps of those late trains, traffic, heat and packed beaches.

Interesting to look back with no expectation. And a lovely surprise. Hiding in the mundane, in the nondescript, in the nothing happening, everything was going along just fine, as if it was doing it without me. Fledgling poems and raw material I can come back to. More to add to my pile. One from each day. I could peg them out in a line like Royal Wedding bunting, have them breezing along the washing line, let them flutter like the tail streamers on a kite.

And some will come into shape and I'll let others fly free.

In progress

2011-04-19T22:04:00.006+01:00

Beach, garden, paddling, walking. England's early Summer shine is a beautiful surprise. Can't believe I'm walking around in sandals in April and hoping I put enough sunscreen on.

The potatoes are in, the broccoli has had enough of the heat, the apple blossom is just pushing through, the sky is gorgeous every day and the light makes it impossible to stay indoors.

But, I had booked onto a couple of workshops this week. The photo shows a huge piece, possibly my biggest ever at about 4 ft x 3 ft that shook away all sorts of cobwebs. It's been too long since I spent time with art materials in my hands - things beginning with v or w always seem to take first pick on my time and energy.

The location was Fabrica where the current installation is The Forty Part Motet by Janet Cardiff. It's a shame you can't be there as it's hard to describe the feeling of working amongst this sound and to see the model move through such a space as lines danced across the page and the daylight swung across the gallery.

How to reconnect with drawing!!

Optimism

2011-04-13T09:27:00.004+01:00

Click!

Gate post above Alfriston.

Almost at the top. The gates are long gone, but the posts remain, weathered by the elements, totemic against vast skies.

Every direction you look, it's like the land gives way to the vastness of the sky, observes the canvas in progress just like you. Clouds are brushed, crimped, ridged, swished, ruffled, scrunched, blasted, swept ragged across the blue.

When you lie down and gaze up, there's no other thing in your peripheral vision. You feel the hum of the earth like a happy roar.

Optimism is a west wind sculpting the sky.

Whisperings

2011-04-07T13:43:00.006+01:00

You had to somehow mute your own heartbeat, wait almost longer than you could bear. But if you found a way to disappear into the background hum of earth shift and sky roar, you might just hear the contour of her whisperings as clearly as if your hand ran over every rise and fall.

2.25

2011-04-02T18:03:00.007+01:00

Click!

the angle of sunlight

a metallic spate in the waves

orange hints in the pitted chalk cliffs

2.25

Eating my greens

2011-03-29T12:38:00.006+01:00

It tasted great!! One of my favourite vegetables.

The first pickings of purple sprouting broccoli hit the plate this week. And some late leeks that have enjoyed a week of sunshine and seem to have put on a final burst. Can't quite believe the broccoli survived the blasting of this last Winter. It takes months to grow, sees out the coldest months.

As always, the birds have had a good attempt at getting to it first. I'm sure the crows have been trampolining on the cages we built as all the posts are leaning at odd angles, like a wonky gymnasium. Some of the supports are swooping down low as if the call went out for every pigeon in town to come and sit in a row to see if it would help them peck closer to the flowers.

Anyway, they didn't, although they've eaten all chard and I don't know if I've rescued it soon enough. Another cage. We'll see how it goes.

Remember to eat your greens!

Room for every solitude

2011-03-22T13:16:00.006Z

Click!

That big moon is pulling back the loveliest of quiet tides here. Stretches of low tide like I've never walked in Brighton. A hint of my home beach of Crosby, made more precious because this will be hidden for weeks, months, maybe years.

The wreckage of the burnt out pier felt almost close enough to touch. Knee deep would have had us standing side by side, if only I could have braved the icy sea. Here's the adoring crowd at sunset. It felt like an event to leave the stones behind.

Rewind back through a walk that has etched itself on my memory, wherever I keep it. This one, I think, is sepia tinged, like walking into bright sunlight watching all the colours become one. So good to feel such happy knees and ankles that could have strolled a coast forever in a space that hung out with the sky, room for every solitude away from the gathering.

Below the house, closest to here, it took my breath away. Remains of an old jetty look like another group of people paddling. I like the trick, but it's wood turning to bleach back and wave form. No-one there except me.